Voi che Sapete
by Samantha
Summary: Hermione finds consolement in someone she never dreams...


A/N: Just to clear things up, this fic goes back and forth between viewpoints. At first it's third person in Hermione's viewpoint, then it's first person narrated by &@#%$ (don't want to spoil anything!) and it switches back and forth. Bon appetite! 

Thirty-nine year old Hermione Granger walked down Diagon Alley at a brisk pace. She had an appointment to keep, a job interview; meeting a hopeful for Hermione's own position when she was promoted. When Fudge retired next year, it was assumed that one of his two assistants, Hermione or Percy Weasley, would take over his position. Percy, however, was married and had a family, so it was Hermione who would become the next Mistress of Magic. 

And it left her own assistant position open. Hermione sighed. She should have been more proud of herself; it had taken so much work, so many sleepless nights to get to the top. Ever since she was seventeen she had strived to be where she was now, but now that she was there, she wasn't happy. 

Secretly she envied Percy, who had married Penelope Clearwater four years after their graduation from Hogwarts. Percy had four children, Claudia, David, Natalie, and Thomas, all of whom Hermione adored. When they were younger they had referred to her as 'Aunt Hermione' because over the years she and Percy had become so close. 

Her hair was blown by the breeze and was tangled with her necklace, the one she hadn't taken off for almost twenty two years. Hermione reached for it instinctively. It was a small gold chain, with an engagement ring on it. She shut her eyes and remembered when she had been given that engagement ring, in the middle of her dormitory, her seventh year of Hogwarts. 

"I love you," Harry had told her that day. "I want to marry you." Hermione remembered how she reacted to that. She had thrown her arms around his neck and kissed him, hard. She had loved him. She still did. 

Walking along, she tried to remember all the good times the two had shared. Making out underneath their thinking tree, playing 'footsy' under the desk in class, him running to her after his Quidditch victories, spinning her around and kissing her absently until McGonagall had broken them up. She remembered the love poem he had written her, how it had been taken up in Potions and Snape had read it aloud in class. Neither one was embarrassed. She would have shouted it from the mountain tops, "I love Harry Potter." 

However, she could not remember the good times without thinking about the bad. How Voldemort had came back on their graduation day, for Harry. He wanted Harry to join him, the dark arts. After Harry refused, he went on a killing spree. He killed Lavender Brown, Neville Longbottom, Justin Flin-Fletchy, and several others. And he had killed Ron. Oh, Ron, Hermione thought, if you were alive, things would be better. You could have helped Harry. You could have told him that he wasn't strong enough, told him that these deaths weren't his fault. Ron wasn't there, however, and when Harry couldn't kill Voldemort, it crushed him. Voldemort was dead, Dumbledore had killed him, yet Harry blamed himself for everything. For Ron's death, for his classmates', for his parents'. 

It was ridiculous, of course, but as many times Hermione told him that, he wouldn't listen. He didn't speak a word for days; he wouldn't let anyone touch him. Hermione ached for him and was frustrated at how she couldn't help him. Hermione's eyes watered with tears when she recalled the worst day of her life. 

"Hermione," Harry had said softly. 

"Yes," she answered. She lightly put her hand on his shoulder and he flinched at her touch. 

"I can't do this anymore," he whispered. 

"What?" Hermione asked, truly shocked. Her stomach flip-flopped and she felt like vomiting. 

"Hermione, I feel numb," he explained. "I can't feel anything, pain or…" he looked up at her. "Love." 

Hermione didn't remember what happened next, just her running to the bathroom and throwing up, again and again. She remembered drowning in her tears. 

Hermione had to sit down now, on a bench, her head in her hands. She glanced at her watch. Damn, I've only got five minutes, she thought. Damn me, for thinking of this. 

Once you get started thinking, you can't really stop. After that day, she threw herself into her work. She didn't sleep, didn't eat, only worked and studied. She guessed she did it to keep her from thinking about him, although it didn't work. She kept loving him from afar, even after it became obvious he would never come back to her. 

Harry had gotten into professional Quidditch. He was regarded as the heartthrob of the wizarding world and beat Lockhart as the winner of the most Weekly Witch most charming smile awards. Hermione knew, when she looked at his picture, that his eyes had lost their sparkle. He had lost his spirit, his soul that night that Voldemort had come. 

Hermione always kept up with him, reading the newspaper and magazine articles about him. Harry had started drinking, at first it had been casual, then became more serious. The media had eaten that up; hero boy Harry was an alcoholic. It was the type of thing that sleazy tabloid writers loved. Harry continued to have many one night stands, each one that Hermione read about gave her a stab in the heart, a sharp burning pain. 

Hermione remembered that day when she had gotten to work and Percy had showed her the headline. POTTER MARRIED AT 21 it had read. Harry had married Cho Chang, whom Hermione had always hated. He had gotten her pregnant, and married her out of pity. "Damn you!" she screamed at the paper. "Damn you!" She ran out of the office, not even noticing the odd stares she had gotten by he co-workers. 

It should have been me, she thought, to stand next to him at the alter. I should be having his kids, not that slut Cho! I love him; all she cares about is having an arm ornament. Harry has two kids now, Hermione thought, and they're not mine. The thought brought tears down her cheeks, but she wiped them away. She had to look presentable at the job interview. 

*** 

I sat at the table nervously. My hands didn't want to stay still and were shaking slightly. Actually I was trembling all over. This was it, the big one. I was one of the finalists for a job for an assistant for the next minister of magic. Mistress of Magic, I corrected myself, her name was Hermia or something like that. She and her associate would be interviewing me. They were both pretty young and probably wouldn't get me stuck on a question I didn't know. That's what all those stupid phony interviewers try to do, to get you stuck on something you don't know. They probably didn't know the answer to the question themselves. I don't want to sound to spiteful or anything, I was just nervous out of my mind. My little brother Jamie prepped me for it that morning. I say little brother, but he's not that little anymore. He towers over me at six foot four and is just one year younger than me. He just seems younger, I guess. 

Anyway, I was sitting with Beth Berlapsi or whatever her name was, the one who had interviewed me the times before and put me in the final running for the job. She said that I was the favorite candidate, but I bet she says that to everyone. Beth was trying to be comforting and telling me that I was going to be fine, but I wasn't even listening. My mind is always wondering. I saw two people come in the restaurant and I guess it's them because, I dunno, they just looked important. The man had red hair, freckles, and glasses and had on a suit and tie that looked like it was too stiff to move in. The woman, Hermia or whatever, had fluffy brown hair, cinnamon eyes, and was very put together in dress without looking like she tried to hard. I liked her almost instantly. 

Beth waved them over and they sat down. "I'm Percy Weasley," the man said, shaking my hand. 

"And I'm Hermione Granger," the woman said. Hermione, that's it! I knew that it was something like that. Anyways, she was looking at me quizzically, like she remembered me or something. 

"It's very nice to meet you both," I said, being polite and sweet as hell. You always have to make a good impression. I think that's the one thing I learned from my mother. She was as phony as anything, but a lot of people liked her. I don't get it either. 

"This is the girl I was telling you about," Beth said, introducing me, placing a friendly hand on my shoulder. Don't touch me, I think. "This is Isabel Potter." 

I can see the immediate reaction on their faces. Hermione's face went white as a sheet, and Percy turned to her, with compassion in his eyes. That was a first; most of the time people shake my hand again or ask me for my autograph. I'm not kidding! I swear, I have perfected my signature. 

"I'm sorry, I their something wrong?" I ask the woman sweetly, only because I liked her. She wasn't fake; I could tell. 

"Oh, no, nothing wrong," she smiled quickly. "Well, Isabel I hear that you're a recent graduate of Hogwarts?" 

"Yes, Ms. Granger, I was Head Girl." 

"Please, call me Hermione, and this is Percy." 

"Alright," I said, liking Hermione more and more. I swear to god that my own mother would have preferred me call her Mrs. Potter as opposed to mum. She was like that. 

"How were your marks?" Percy asked. 

"I was in the top five percent in every class except Potions. I think I was lucky to pass in that class. Snape hated me," I joked. 

Percy tried to hide a grin, but Hermione laughed out loud. "He hasn't changed, has he?" 

"No. I've begun to think he's become more and more sinister as the years have gone by." I grinned. 

"I think you're right," Hermione agreed. "How's McGonagall holding up as headmistress?" 

"She's fine. She's a bit partial to us Gryffindors, so we all liked her," I told her. 

Hermione laughed again. "You're in Gryffindor?" she asked. "Your mother was in Ravenclaw, did you know?" 

Ugh, I would have died before I would have been put in Ravenclaw. "Yes, I did know. Did you know my parents?" 

Hermione nodded. "Yes, I did." Her voice had a shake in it. Percy patted her shoulder. 

"Tell us about your childhood, Miss Potter," Percy said. 

"If I can call you by your first names, please call me Isabel." 

"Ok, Isabel. What was your-hold on," he said and reached down to a little thing out of his pocket. "Shit." 

"What's wrong?" Hermione asked. 

"What's that?" I asked. 

"It's a muggle machine called a pager, and it's Penny. She's said that David has been injured in a Quidditch match. Shit!" 

"David Weasley?" I asked. 

He nodded. "Do you know him?" 

I grinned. "Very much so. Gryffindor lost so many points after the little dungabomb incident last year." 

Percy groaned. "Unfortunately, I remember that. I really need to go." He turned to Hermione. "Can you continue?" 

"Sure, go ahead," she answered unconfidently. 

"Are you sure?" 

"Go!" she ordered, and he got up and left. 

"I need to be leaving too," Beth said. I had forgotten that she was there. She quickly left her seat and followed Percy out. Good riddance, I thought to myself. 

"Now Isabel," Hermione asked. "Let's go back to Percy's question. Tell me about your childhood." 

What's to tell? I had a crappy life until I got to Hogwarts, and then it was still, well, pretty crappy. "Uh, well, I was raised by my mum and dad, and I have a brother, Jamie." 

"Tell me about your parents." 

Just then I had this weird flashback thing. I was ten and Jamie was nine. Mother was downstairs at another of her damn parties, and dad was their too, I guess trying not to fall asleep in the caviar like he did a year ago at their Christmas party. Amaryllis, our nanny, told us about that one. 

I guess I should tell you about Amaryllis Barcarolle. She was about two years older than my mother, and was beautiful. She had long flowing brown hair and deep gray eyes. Amaryllis was a squib. I guess that's why she only was our nanny, she really couldn't fit into either world, wizarding or muggle. Jamie and I loved Amaryllis. She would tell us stories about fairies and royalties that she had learned from her parents back in Ireland. 

I had never been to one of mother's parties, so I snuck downstairs to see. You really couldn't see anything, so I stole my father's invisibility cloak out of his room and flew his broom to get an overview of the room. It was hilarious. Terry Boot was holding hands with someone who wasn't his wife under the table, Ernie Macmillan's fly was open, and Colin Creevy was giving his caviar to our cat. IT was hilarious! Absolutely hilarious! 

Or it would have been, if I hadn't fallen of my broom into the cake my mother had worked all week on. The guests took it pretty well, they just laughed it off. My mother played it off, saying things like 'children, will they ever learn?' or 'curiosity killed the cat' and all of those stupid, phony clichés like that. But after the guests left, my mother was mad. 

"Didn't I tell you to stay upstairs!" she screamed. 

"Yes ma'am." 

"Did you do that?" she hollered. 

"No ma'am." 

"Don't be so hard on her Mrs. Potter, she's just a lass," Amaryllis said, in her rich flowing Irish accent. 

"You were supposed to be watching them!" my mother accused. 

"I thought she was asleep, Mrs. Potter. I was tending Jamie when she slipped out." 

"No excuses!" My mother screeched. "You are fired!" 

"Mom!" I whined. "It's not her fault!" 

Then she slapped me. Hard. "Never, ever talk back to me, do you hear me?" She grabbed my shoulders. "Do you understand?" I looked at my dad for help, but he just stood there, shoulders hunched, and stared out into space with an indifferent stare. My mother shook me hard and I looked back at her. "Do you understand?" she hissed. 

I nodded. I hated her. I hated her more than anything in the world. I hated her for her own hate. I hated my father too, but for a different reason. I hated him for his indifference. That was the night I lost all my respect for my parents. When I got older, I tried to rebel against them, only for my mother to hate more for making her look bad and my father not caring. God I hate them. 

"Isabel?" Hermione asked. 

"Huh?" 

"Are you ok?" she asked, concerned. 

"Yes, I'm fine. What were you saying?" 

"Tell me about your parents," Hermione asked. 

"Uh, my mother was a bit of a socialite. She was kind of always busy having parties and getting her hair done and such. And my dad played Quidditch. He was kind of busy with that too." 

"What about your brother?" she asked. 

"I love my brother," I said. "He's probably the nicest person you've ever met. He's really tall and he looks a lot like my dad, except thinner. Jamie's a bit sickly. He's always catching something or another." 

She grinned. I was watching her, waiting for her to say something, but she didn't. 

"You're about the same age as my parents. Did you go to school with them at Hogwarts?" I asked. 

"Yes, I did," she said. She looked sad all of a sudden. 

"Where they as big as jackasses when you knew them?" I inquired slyly. 

Hermione's mouth dropped open. "Isabel!" she scolded. "Don't say that about your parents, for goodness sake!" 

"Why not?" I grinned. "I've made it clear that I dislike them." 

"Why?" 

"Like I said. My mother was always throwing parties and never wanted us around, and my father never really loved us. You could tell. I think our maids and nannies raised Jamie and I more than my parents did." 

"I'm sorry," Hermione whispered. She said it like she meant it too, not like all those phonies who just said it to fill up space. If you're going to say that you're sorry, you should mean it. 

"Where they as big as jackasses when you knew them?" I asked again. 

Hermione smiled. "Your mother and I never really got along, so I really can't say anything." 

"And my dad?" 

A single tear ran down her cheek. I felt sorry for asking, but I had already asked and I wanted to know. "Your father and I were friends at Hogwarts. Very good friends." 

That surprised me. How could that Quidditch obsessed man who had no time for his children befriend this strong yet compassionate woman? I decided that he obviously got the better end of the deal. "Really?" 

"Yes, really," she nodded. I should have changed the subject, but I really was interested. I hardly knew my dad, but I really wanted to find out some more about him. 

"What was he like?" 

"You probably knew him better than I did. You spent many more years with him than I did," Hermione answered. 

I snorted. "Hell no. All I know is that he liked Quidditch." 

Hermione sighed. "Well, he was very smart, and nice, and charming. He was very sensitive, and he always made me laugh." Her voice was cracking all over the place and her hand was trembling. I knew. Suddenly it just clicked, and I knew. I knew why she had paled at the mention of my name, and how it was painful to discuss my dad. 

"You loved him, didn't you?" 

Hermione looked down, not answering. She started to cry softly. Then after a while, she looked up at me and nodded. "Yes, I did." 

I guess it's a weird feeling to know that your own father was in love with someone other than your mother, but it wasn't a bad feeling. I almost we knew two different Harry Potters, hers one who loved her, and mine one who was indifferent to most everything. I almost was happy, I wanted to know her Harry. We sat in an awkward silence for a while, then she looked up at me and smiled. 

"You look like him," she said softly. "You look nothing like your mother." 

I laughed. "Thank god." I paused. "Do you hate me?" 

"Why would I hate you?" 

I sighed. "I dunno, I guess I'm like the reason all this happened to you. I'm the only reason he married Cho. It's all my fault." 

Hermione glared at me. "Don't ever say that!" she scolded. "It's not your fault. It's Voldemort's fault." 

*** 

She was so much like Harry, Hermione thought. Funny, sweet, and thinking everything is her fault. It was so EASY to open up to her; it was like talking to Harry himself before that damned graduation night. Hermione had taken to Isabel almost immediately. Isabel had Harry's green eyes, but was a red-head. She looked like pictures of Lily Potter that Hermione had seen years before. 

She told Isabel everything, things that she hadn't even told Percy, whom she considered to be her best friend, truly her only friend in the world. She told Isabel about the engagement ring, the graduation night, and the day that Harry broke up with her. Then she told Isabel about the party. She had never told this to Percy, and he had been there. 

Penelope had been sick one evening and could not attend a dinner party thrown by one of her old classmates from Hogwarts. She insisted that Percy went, which he did, and had taken Hermione as his date. The party was held at the large estate of the host. The two had just arrived there when they found themselves face to face with the hostess, a very pregnant Cho Chang. 

"Percy," she had crowed with her high, sickly sweet voice. "Where's Penny?" 

"She's ill and could not make it," Percy explained. "I think you remember my associate, Hermione?" 

"Yes, of course." Cho smiled fakely. "It's a pleasure to see you again." 

"Yes, it is. How are you, Cho?" Hermione asked, forcing concern. 

"Pretty good." Then Cho turned and went off to greet other guests who had just come in. Percy and Hermione had just put their coats up when Hermione heard a voice that brought chills down her spine. 

"Cho, how do you tie one of these goddamn things?" Harry whined as he came down the stairs, fully dressed except for his bow-tie. 

Cho sighed. "Like this," she said, and tied it quickly. "Now leave me alone! I'm mingling!" she hissed and stalked off. 

Hermione had not taken her eyes off of him since she saw him. Just being in his presence made her weak in the knees. Grumbling, Harry turned and looked at the guests-and then saw Hermione. He gaped at her, gazing into her eyes. 

Ohmigod! She thought; he was walking towards her. "Hey," she said. 

"Hey," he whispered. Then he turned to Percy. "How are you and Penny doing?" 

"Just fine, thanks," Percy answered. Percy and Hermione had only been working together for two years at the time, and she had not yet told him about her and Harry. It was just too personal for now. "By the looks of Cho, you've been a pretty busy boy, Harry," he joked. 

Hermione felt nauseous as Harry chuckled at Percy's joke. "I guess so," he agreed. 

"Would you excuse me, I see an old classmate," Percy said and walked off. "Gabriel! It's been ages," he called out, leaving Harry and Hermione alone. 

"You look wonderful," he said. She was wearing a long, silver strapless dress with her hair up in a curly chinagon. 

"So do you," she answered. He was still as handsome as ever, his dark hair going each and every way and his green eyes almost regaining their childhood sparkle in her presence. 

"How are you?" he asked politely. 

"Fine. And you?" 

"Fine." Hermione looked up at him. God she just wanted to throw her arms around and kiss him. This is awful, she thought. "You're a assistant for the Minister of Magic, aren't you?" he asked. 

"Yes. You're still playing Quidditch, right?" 

"Yes, I am." 

It had been almost five years since their last meeting, but they still had all the chemistry of their youth. "Let's all go and be seated," they heard Cho bark, interrupting their beautiful silence. 

"After you," Harry gestured, and then gently touched her back to push her forward, giving her goosebumps all over. They walked over to the table in silence, then he pulled out her chair for her and took a seat by Cho. Percy sat next to her. 

"Having fun?" Percy whispered. Hermione shrugged. She noticed that Harry was staring at her intensely. She gazed back, and throughout the entire dinner, could not break that stare. She didn't even remember what they had, it seemed so insignificant when her love was staring at her. 

In the middle of the meal Harry announced "I don't feel well. I'm going to go and get some sleep. We've got a game tomorrow, of course." The guests at the table chuckled. 

Cho sighed and pecked his cheek. "Good night darling." She said. 

"Night," he said and walked off. When he was passing Hermione he subtlety dropped a napkin in her lap, then left. When the talking had resumed, Hermione looked down at the napkin and unfolded it. 'Meet me at the bathroom' it read, written out in pencil in Harry's unmistakably childish handwriting. 

About two minutes later, the most she could wait, she politely asked Cho where the restroom was. "It's up the stairs, down the hall and on the right," she said. "You can't miss it." Cho smiled. She's glad to be rid of me, Hermione thought. 

Hermione walked up the stairs, and turned down the hall, her heart pounding. Did she say it was on the left or right? She asked herself. All the doors where closed and she didn't just want to open them; one didn't know what she might see. 

Suddenly she felt someone's arms go around her waist and pull her into the bathroom. "Hey!" she chastised, and turned around to find Harry. "Harry! You scared me!" 

"Sorry," he apologized, grinning. He still had his arms around her waist. Hermione trembled slightly, and he tightened his grip on her. 

"Harry, we can't-" he broke her off with a kiss. This is wrong! We can't do this! Cho's in the next room with his child, for goodness sake! But it felt too good to argue. She put her arms around his neck and kissed back. 

"Hermione," he whispered, leaning in to kiss her neck. 

"This is wrong," Hermione whispered, out of breath from the kiss. 

"Very wrong," he agreed, kissing her again. She felt how much he needed her, wanted her by the way he kissed her. 

"Harry," she said, pulling away. "We can't do this!" 

"Don't you want to?" he asked. 

"That's not it!" she cried. "You're married!" 

"So?" he asked, kissing her cheek. "We can run away together." 

"That won't work," she whispered. 

"Why won't it! I love you," he said. 

Hermione abruptly pulled away. "Really? You love me?" She snapped. "I thought you couldn't feel love," she said sarcastically. 

Harry looked at her, hurt. "I was scared and stupid, Herm. I didn't want anymore pain from losing you, so I pushed you away. But Herm, there has not been a day that I have not missed you like crazy." 

"Obviously you didn't miss me that much, with all your little goddamn affairs!" she yelled. 

He sighed. "When you're drunk you do stupid things. Very stupid things." A tear ran down his cheek and Hermione wiped it away for him. 

"Why get drunk?" she inquired softly. 

"Because alcohol eases the pain," he said, crying harder now. "The pain of letting you go." Hermione looked up at him and lightly kissed his tears. She let him wrap his arms around her and hold her tightly. He put his head on her shoulder. "I love you, I love you," he muttered against her bare skin. 

"I love you too," she said, running her fingers through his hair. He lightly kissed her neck, then reached up to kiss her lips. They stood there for a very long time, in each other's arms. 

"What are we going to do?" he asked her. 

"I'm going to go back downstairs and then I'm going home. You're going to stay here." 

"I want to be with you." 

"Harry, Cho is pregnant with your child. You just can't leave her!" Hermione cried. 

"Why not?" he asked. 

"You got yourself into this, and you'll just have to deal with it!" 

"I don't want Cho. I want you," he said and kissed the top of her head. With that, Hermione broke down. She cried and cried as Harry held her close, kissing her tears away. She looked up into his eyes and they kissed each other passionately, one last time. When the kiss had been broken, Hermione stood up and walked toward the door. 

"Where are you going?" Harry asked. 

"Home," she whispered. 

"Please don't go," he pleaded. 

"I can't stay." 

"Then I'll go," he said. 

"You can't go." 

"I love you," he whispered. 

She opened the door. "I love you too," she said softly, then shut the door behind her.* 

Hermione was really crying now. Isabel looked around uncomfortably. 

"Was I the baby?" she asked. Hermione nodded. "Thank you." 

"Thank you for what?" Hermione asked, confused. 

"Thank you for giving me so much, for sacrificing so much for me." 

Hermione looked up at this eighteen year old girl. "No thanks are needed." Hermione smiled. "It's funny, when I first saw you I was very fond of you." 

"Same with me. I liked you before you even introduced yourself," Isabel agreed. The two women paid their check, left the restaurant, and started to walk down Diagon Ally. 

"You have the job." 

"Huh?" 

"You have the job," Hermione repeated. "All the remaining candidates are the same as in requirements, and now it was just who we liked the best. Who we felt we could work with." 

Isabel smiled. "Thank you." 

"Just one more question for this sheet, this questionnaire I have to fill out for the interview," Hermione smiled. 

"Shoot." 

"What do you like to do in your spare time. I mean I know that your parents were both great Quidditch players…" Hermione was interrupted. 

"I don't play Quidditch," Isabel proclaimed. 

*** 

After leaving Hermione I walked to a place I knew well. I had to say goodbye. 

"Hey," I said to the gray tombstone. "Look, I don't want to stay long, cause cemeteries creep me out. But I had to talk to you. You know who I met today?" 

I looked over and read the engraving in the tombstone. Harry Potter 1980-2017. He was thirty-seven. I placed the flowers I had bought on my way there on his grave. 

"You know who I met today?" I asked again. "Hermione Granger. You remember her? I know you do. She told me things about you." 

I looked around. My grandparents were buried nearby, along with most of the Potter family. My mother was buried all the way on the other end of the graveyard next to Parvati Patil. I swear, don't most married couples want to be buried next to each other? I guess my parents were not most married couples. Especially my mother. I had known Hermione Granger for about three hours and she already acted more like my mother than Cho Chang. 

"She said she loved you," I continued talking to my deceased father. "I'm sure she still does. Oh dad, you really screwed us all over, didn't you?" 

"Why did you die?" I asked softly, crying. "You were perfectly healthy, you could have lived many more years. Damn you! You just didn't want to live, did you!" 

"Look, dad," I finished. "I'll be honest with you. I don't love you. I don't think I ever will be able to because I know you never loved me. But I forgive you. I forgive you," I mumbled, standing up. I turned and saw Hermione crying hysterically against a nearby tree. Poor girl. I hope she finds some peace tonight, as I have. 

I look at the tombstone one last time. This is the last time I stoop in front of his grave. I will never really look at it again, even when I visit this cemetery again. Not in about three days, when David Weasley rests here, next to his uncle Ron. Not in about three months, when Fudge finally croaks. Not even in three years, when my own Jamie comes to live here next to dad, dead of some muggle disease called pneumonia. Harry Potter and I have made peace, after my eighteen years of hating him. I turn back once more to Hermione. She's talking to herself, but is smiling. Good night, my friend. Good night. 

A/N: God that was depressing! I'm feeling sad now. So, please review. PLEASE! Voi che sapete means Tell me what Love is, just for all of you who don't know French, including me! I got this off my Charlotte Church CD. Hehe 

Disclaimer: Harry Potter, Hermione Granger, Percy Weasley, Ron Weasley, Penelope Clearwater, Cho Chang, Severus Snape, Minerva McGonagall, Lavender Brown, Neville Longbottom, Justin Flin-Fletchy, Terry Boot, Lily Potter, Colin Creevy, Ernie Macmillan, Cornelius Fudge, Lockhart, and Parvati Patil belong to J.K. Rowling, Scholastic, and Bloomsbery. Isabel Potter, Jamie Potter, David Weasley, Claudia Weasley, Natalie Weasley, Thomas Weasley, Amaryllis Barcarolle, Gabriel what's-his-name, and Beth Berlapsi all belong to me. 


End file.
